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The Grateful Earth
The soaked grassy floor squirms and whines beneath my shoes.
The thick, engorged ground is saturated with wetness,
Patches of bare earth revealed, teeming with sticks and leaves and hickory nuts.
The sky turns shockingly white, plummeting the townspeople into blindness.
The very shade of the heavens is revealed in this divine outbreak.
Leaves are rushing towards me, past my face, entangling in my hair,
In fear of being lost forever.
Everything is enlightened by this moment.
The shrubs, the bushes of dead flowers, begging for spring, are wailing to the heavens,
'Show us, so we will know,' they say.
Even the trash receptacles are itching to move from their solitude on the pavement and partake in this merriment, this party that is glossed with fear and respect.
The wet, porous streets are gleaming,
Automobiles do not dare pass on them.
The sky is hued of the ocean; the cloudless sky is His way of enrapturing us in His bosom.
The wind has not deceased yet.
I lift my withering arm to my face, to cover my poor eyes.
My eyes that do not match the resilience of my soul.
The earth's rumples and folds are heightened by this shining orb in the sky,
Casting shadows that make my weep.
The sky is spewing bright-white fire,
Roaring as a ravenous tiger.
I fall, my knees meeting the ground with a damp thud.
I will surely find thick mud on my jeans after this hour.
I lay upon the grateful earth, making a bed for myself.
I lay and count the sun beams, the wind strokes, and my lips form the words, 'Thank yoooou.'